Chapter Thirty-one Troubled
Chapter Thirty-one
Troubled
“THE SNOWDROPS ARE coming up!”
Aelfwyn rushed indoors, her cheeks flushed with cold, her gaze shining. “Spring is here!”
Leofric straightened up from stacking an armload of wood against the wall and brushed the bark off his leather jerkin. “Isn’t it a bit early to be celebrating? Eōstre is a while away.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Aelfwyn placed the basket of kale she had just picked from their vegetable patch. “Once the snowdrops and bluebells arrive, the bitter season departs.”
Leofric smiled at her, and the expression made Aelfwyn’s breathing still. Despite their argument two days earlier, she could not find it within herself to keep angry at him for long.
Their gazes held for a moment before Leofric’s smile faded. “If winter is behind us, then we need to think about moving on.”
Aelfwyn nodded. She did not want to leave this home they had made for each other—but after King Eatta’s treatment of Leofric, she no longer felt as comfortable in Lincylene. She would miss Cynn and Gytha—they both would—but Leofric spoke true: it was time to think about the future.
“Where shall we go?” she asked.
“I was thinking we could go to the south coast of Britannia,” he replied, coming close and reaching for her. “The Kingdom of the Kentish is reputed to be a green and peaceful land. We should be safe from King Ecgfrith there.”
“What about the price on your head?” Aelfwyn wrapped her arms around his waist and stared up at his face. “Aren’t you worried the Ealdorman of Eoforwic is still searching for you?”
Leofric’s mouth quirked into a grin. “He probably gave up with the onset of winter. Godwine’s got better things to do than hunt me down.”
Aelfwyn held his gaze. “Are you sure?”
“No,” Leofric replied with a shrug, “but if we travel south, he’ll cease to be a concern.”
“You once told me you’d have to leave Britannia to escape him.”
“Aye, but time changes a man’s perspective. Britannia is probably big enough to lose myself in.”
Aelfwyn frowned. “But you’ll never get to see your family again.”
Leofric’s grin twisted. “I’m dead to them, Aelfwyn. When Godwine banished me to Lindisfarena, my father called me a ‘nithing’—a man forfeit of name and honor.”
Aelfwyn stared at him, wondering that Leofric had not told her of this before.
“I’m so sorry he said that to you,” she said quietly. Elflaeda had called her that back in Streonshalh and the name had stung—but to call a member of your family a ‘nithing’ was the ultimate insult. Leofric’s father had disowned him.
Leofric shook his head and released her. “It matters not—the old man and I never saw eye to eye anyway. I’m sure he was relieved to see the back of me.”
“Of course it matters,” Aelfwyn replied. “Even if he wanted you punished, there was no need to do that.”
“It’s over with now.” Leofric turned away, his tone dismissive. “I don’t worry about it, so nor should you.”
She watched him retrieve his fur cloak from a hook behind the door and saw from the tense set of his shoulders that she would continue on the present subject at her peril. Aelfwyn let the matter drop, although it was an effort to do so.
Once again Leofric rebuffed her the moment she tried to get closer to him. Did he not trust her?
“I’m going into town to see if the smith has finished my new axe-blade,” Leofric announced, slinging the cloak about his shoulders. “Do you want anything from the market while I’m there?”
“Do you think there will be any berries yet?”
Leofric turned back to her, the good humor returning to his face. “Now you’re really being overly optimistic.”
Aelfwyn sighed and looked down at the basket of kale. “I’m dying for some fruit—it seems an age since we finished the last of our apples.”
“I’ll check for you,” Leofric promised, leaning down for a kiss, “but don’t get your hopes up.”
Aelfwyn followed Leofric outside and watched him stride across the grass to the path that led alongside the riverbank. She stood in front of the hut, gazing after him until his tall figure disappeared from sight. Then with a sigh she turned and went back inside.
She carried the kale over to her worktable and started chopping it for the pottage for their noon meal.
A slight frown marred Aelfwyn’s forehead as she worked; her conversation with Leofric had left her out of sorts.
It had not been right between them since their argument—they were beginning to struggle under the weight of too many things left unsaid.
Irritated that her thoughts had turned in this direction—yet again—Aelfwyn scooped up the chopped kale and dumped it in the iron pot hanging above the fire pit.
She grew tired of her own insecurity. Leofric treated her like his queen.
He worshipped her body as if she were a goddess—what did a few mere words matter?
Aelfwyn’s eyes filled with tears. She hated herself for it, but they did.
Leofric left the smith’s forge empty-handed. His axe-blade was still not ready although Alric the Smith promised him he would have it the following day.
Whistling to himself, Leofric exited the narrow alley and glanced up Steep Hill. The market would be there for a while yet—there was enough time to drop in to see Cynn first.
His friend was washing cups when Leofric entered the mead hall.
His sleeves rolled up, Cynn was frowning as he scrubbed away.
It was too early in the day for drinkers, and the long, windowless structure was empty.
A low fire crackled in the hearth in the center of the hall, flanked either side by two long tables.
At noon and after dusk men, drinking elbow to elbow, would pack those tables.
“Morning,” Leofric greeted him cheerfully.
Cynn glanced up. “It’s a bit early in the day, isn’t it?”
Leofric grinned. “It’s never too early for a cup of your finest, but I’m on my way to market and thought I’d see how you were.”
Cynn shrugged. “Well enough. I haven’t seen you around here often in the evenings of late.”
“Eatta emptied my purse,” Leofric replied, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms across his chest. “Not much spare gold for mead these days.”
He gave Cynn a long look then. “You don’t seem yourself this morning, is something wrong?”
His friend shrugged and gave a tired smile. “Just the look of a weary man. My wife and daughters keep me awake with their prattle.”
Leofric laughed. “You have a fine family and you know it.”
“Aye—but a man with so many daughters and no sons carries a heavy burden.”
Leofric studied Cynn and wondered if he was struggling to gather enough gold to pay the king’s outrageous ‘gild’. He hesitated to ask about it though for he knew Cynn was proud. He might see a friend’s concern as meddling.
“I shall leave you to your work then.” Leofric pushed himself off the doorframe. “Shall I come by later for a long-overdue game of knucklebones?”
Cynn smiled. “Still think you can beat me?”
Leofric grinned back. “I will—one of these days.”
Inside the mead hall, Cynn picked up a cup and dunked it in the pail of dirty water.
A tall, red-haired man with hazel eyes.
Three men from Eoforwic had arrived in town yesterday. They had come to the mead hall asking about an outlaw whom the ealdorman was hunting. The man they sought was named Leofric.
Cynn placed the washed cup upside down on the table and reached for another.
What if the man Cynn had welcomed into his home was a liar?
He thought back to that incident in the autumn in Torksey, when the King of Northumbria’s men were asking folk if they had seen a girl with pale blonde hair and grey-blue eyes.
Ecgfrith of Northumbria had been looking for her.
The pieces of the puzzle now starting to fit together; Cynn realized that both Lenred and Aeaba were hunted.
Lenred and Aeaba—both false names.
Cynn looked down at the empty cup he held. Is that a good enough reason to betray them?
The northerners had spoken of a ‘gild’—a great sum of gold—that the ealdorman would pay for the outlaw. It was thirty shillings, more than enough to pay the tax he owed Eatta—plenty to ensure the well-being of his family for the coming year.
Gytha will never forgive me.
But his wife did not understand the pressure he was under. He had barely saved ten thrymsas over the last year, only half of the payment Eatta demanded. He was due to go before the king at Eōstre with the gold. If he did not, Eatta would take everything he had worked so hard for away.
I can’t let that happen to my family.
Cynn put down the cup, dried off his hands, and reached for his cloak. The men had told him they were guests of King Eatta, and that they would be staying in his hall for another two days. There was still time to catch them.
Leofric wandered amongst the stalls in Market Square searching for berries.
He knew his evasive attitude upset Aelfwyn at times.
He was sorry he had upset her two evenings earlier.
He was not sure exactly what he had done wrong—he only knew that the moment she said anything good about his character he felt the need to put her right.
He had seen the hurt and anger in her eyes and was keen to appease her.
There was a surprising array of fresh greens this morning, as well as some crisp spring cabbages—but no berries. The small, tart strawberries folk enjoyed with cream, and the raspberries and blackcurrants, would not come till later.
However, he did come across an old man selling apples. They were the last of the winter store, a little shriveled but definitely edible.
“They’ll be good in cakes and pies,” the vendor told him with a gap-toothed smile. “Sweet and tart with firm flesh.”
“You make them sound like a woman,” Leofric replied with a grin. “I’ll take a bag.”
“Less trouble than women,” the old man replied, filling the cloth bag that Leofric passed him.
Leofric laughed, and the vendor gave him an assessing look. “Are you the new woodcutter who lives on the banks of the Whitham?”
Leofric’s smile faded. Ever since his run-in with the king, he had grown wary of folk here. “Aye.”
“I need timber.”
Leofric raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“My son and his wife have come to live with me. My own wife died two winters ago, but the dwelling is too small for the three of us—especially since my new daughter is with child. I need wood to build onto the back of my home.”
Leofric relaxed, and he smiled. “I felled a beech two days ago,” he replied, “and there’s also some coppicing oak I can bring you.”
“Can you take me to see the wood this afternoon?” the vendor asked. “My son can help you bring it to my home.”
Leofric nodded and started to discuss the old man’s requirements. The winter had seemed endless, and the snows had taken an age to melt. Aelfwyn was right—spring was in the air. This was a chance for him to earn them some valuable thrymsas before they left Lincylene.
Intent on his discussion, Leofric did not notice Cynn cross the Market Square behind him.
The mead hall owner cast Leofric an intent look.
His gaze shifted between the woodcutter and the merchant who stood chatting together.
Then Cynn quickened his pace across the paved expanse toward the Great Hall.